


Adjacent the Greenwood Tree

by darthjamtart



Category: Robin Hood (Traditional), Robin Hood - All Media Types, The Outlaws of Sherwood - Robin McKinley
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gisborne is leading the men out,” Marian calls from the window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adjacent the Greenwood Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angel_vixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_vixen/gifts).



> I borrowed Cecily from Robin McKinley's Outlaws of Sherwood, but this story is otherwise unrelated. For Gisborne, I was absolutely imagining Richard Armitage from the BBC version, but any Gisborne will do.

  
_COME, listen to me, you gallants so free,_   
_All you that love mirth for to hear,_   
_And I will tell you of a bold outlaw,_   
_That lived in Nottinghamshire._   


“Gisborne is leading the men out,” Marian calls from the window. Cecily places a quick, heedless stitch in her embroidery before setting it aside.

“Which way?” Cecily asks, and her voice is calmer now than it would have been six months ago when they’d first started this.

“Toward Nottingham,” Marian says after a moment's observation. She turns away from the window and watches her companion for a moment. Tension wracks Cecily's thin shoulders, though excitement brightens her face. Going out is always a risk for all of them, but for Cecily in particular.

“I’ll let Willa know,” Cecily says, and she moves briskly from the room, skirts twitching beneath her white-knuckled hands.

They wear simple dresses inside, a concession to the Abbess, whose good favor allows them sanctuary. An engagement with Gisborne, however, calls for more practical garments. Marian pulls on her hose, laces a loose tunic up to the hollow of her throat. Cecily and Willa meet her by the drawbridge, Cecily’s mottled brown clothes hanging off her, and Willa in eye-catching scarlet from head to toe. Alanna, their newest addition, is wide-eyed and visibly uncomfortable in her mis-matched menswear. She looks as though she’d gladly trade her new bow and quiver for her old, badly-tuned lute.

“I don’t understand how they never _see_ you,” Marian grumbles at Willa as they head for the greenwood.

“I’m just that good,” Willa says, the bright red feather in her cap tilted at a jaunty angle.

Jeannette meets them at the treeline in her own peasant’s drab. She’s taller and broader than most women and has worn a man’s garb for longer than even Marian. “You’re quick today,” Jeannette greets them.

“Good day to you, too,” Marian replies, and Jeannette grins at her. 

“The others are waiting at Locksley’s Crossing,” Jeannette says, stowing away the flag she’d used to signal Marian in the knot of a nearby bole.

“So Gisborne will pay, or go for a swim,” Marian says. “That’s well enough for me.”

It’s a short walk to the river where Marian had first met Jeannette, years and years ago now. Cecily and Willa are childhood friends, gently-bred ladies like Alanna. The daughter of a miller, Jeannette would never have become Marian’s friend had they not quarreled over what was then a moldering log posing as a bridge.

Locksley’s Crossing is a solid overpass now, perfect for ambushing wealthy Normans. Marian tugs her hood into place, throwing her features into shadow as Willa and Cecily climb with the ease of long practice into the treetops.

“For Richard,” Alanna murmurs, slinking behind a bush. They’ll soon get her accustomed to heights, but for now, it can’t hurt to have arrows flying from several levels of elevation, even if Alanna’s always miss.

“For Richard and his people,” Marian agrees, and waits behind a tree, fletching at the edge of her ear, for Gisborne to ride into view.

She judges the distance by the clatter of hooves on the narrow bridge. Gisborne is just over halfway across the river when she steps out, arrow pointed straight at his heart.

“Halt, Sir Gisborne,” Marian calls out, pitching her voice low.

“Robin Hood,” Gisborne says. Behind him his men shift uneasily on their horses. The last of them tries to back toward the far bank, but one of Marian’s merry crew steps out with an arrow cocked and ready at the end of the bridge, stopping him short.

“Have you come to contribute to King Richard’s ransom?” Marian asks.

“Since it appears you, as usual, leave me little choice,” Gisborne snarls. Grudgingly, the men toss their purses onto the bank of the river.

“The crown thanks you!” Marian calls cheerily. “Ride on, Sir Gisborne!”

They wait while the horses clatter on their way, and they wait even longer, the purses undisturbed by the burbling river, until Jeannette comes loping back to report that Gisborne and his men are truly gone. Only then does Marian give the signal, bringing the other women down from the trees and out from the bushes. She weighs the purses in her hand, then hands half of them to Jeannette, to disperse among the people as needed. The rest will return with them to the convent, and, eventually, to King Richard, captive in the Holy Land.

Jeannette walks with them back to the convent, her hand brushing against Cecily’s. Marian pretends not to notice Cecily’s flushed face, the lingering looks between her and Jeannette. Cecily had many reasons to flee her arranged marriage with an old Norman toad.

Marian is watching Willa embroider something gloriously ornate when the Abbess interrupts them that afternoon. “Gisborne is at the gate and has requested your presence,” the Abbess says, and Willa stabs herself in the finger.

“Every time!” Willa says, staring dolefully at the drop of blood welling up.

“It’s probably nothing,” Marian says. She goes downstairs and stands in the doorway, Willa hovering behind her.

“Maid Marian,” Gisborne says, and he bows. Marian relaxes. Someday, Gisborne will figure out it’s her beneath that hood, but today is not that day.

“I had thought to bring you a gift,” Gisborne continues, “But I was accosted by brigands and thieves, and alas, must come to you empty-handed.”

“I have no need of gifts,” Marian says.

“Ah, but how else am I to court you?” Gisborne says. Behind her, Willa snorts, then shoves her knuckles in her mouth.

“I have no need of courtship,” Marian says. “Your time is wasted here, Sir Gisborne.”

“Your life is wasted here, Maid Marian.”

There is a chilly silence. Willa sounds like she is choking.

“I think God would disagree with you, Sir Gisborne,” Marian says at last.

Gisborne scoffs, “We both know you have no intention of taking those vows.”

Which is true enough. For now. But Marian is devoting her life to _something_ , and it most certainly isn’t Gisborne. “Goodbye, Sir Gisborne,” she says, and withdraws.

“I will call on you again next week!” Gisborne shouts to the closing door, and Willa dissolves in laughter at Marian’s feet.

“I hope he does find out, someday,” Willa says, when she can breathe again. “What a lark that would be!”

It’s a mixture of spite and pride coiling in Marian’s gut when she says, “I hope he does, too.” _Just not_ too _soon_ , she thinks. There is work to do yet.

  



End file.
